Alone In This Lonely World
by Jazebeth
Summary: Belief is a very powerful thing in the spirit world. Unfortunately, so is denial. (Mentioned Guardians and other characters.) Rated just to be safe.
1. chapter 1

The wind had been with him for as long as he remembered. The intangible force of nature that brought snow and hail had been incredibly gentle as she -- he? Them? -- cradled him within her grasp, tossing him in the air playfully as they played a merry game of chase. The winner, of course, was the wind itself. Though he swore that sometimes the wind let him win a couple of times just to humor him.

(So that he would not sulk like the impudent child he is.)

Being airbone was one -- and only -- time where he could be himself; not even playing with the mortal children brought him as much joy as the wind. Which made sense, since only the wind had acknowledge his existense in the last two hundred years.

With the wind as the only one to ever acknowledge him, it wasn't hard for him to develop paranoia whenever he felt a gaze on the back of his head.

It was irrational, really. Even though there's no mortal who could see him, Jack always feel as if _someone_ was watching him; silently observing every inch of movement he made, judging him and measuring his worth as he supplied the children with snowball ammos. It was an unexplainable wariness, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch but aware was there. Jack briefly entertained the thought that there was _someone_ out there who's exactly like him. Someone who's invisible, lingering toward the thin layer of existence-but-not-visible. But after two hundread years of travelling the world and not even a single shred of sightings of any otherworldly creatures, Jack soon stopped hoping to meet these so called myth the children were so fond of, even if it's just to sate his growing curiousity.

He'd sometimes sit by them, a few paces away from the bonfire as the children shared stories of dark being, sometimes kidnapping, killing, or eating them.

In one hand, he wanted the stories to be _real_ , so that he'd have a living proof that they existed. He wanted to see if these being was the same as him, wanted a confirmation that he was also _real._ However, once he got over his curiosity to _know_ , he'd also realized he didn't want any of these creatures to be real. If what they do to humans were to be believed, he'd rather be alone than to have them harm the humans.

And seeing that humans died by natural causes (sometimes by the snow he brought with him, to his horror) and not being mauled by... strange creatures, Jack knew that they _didn't_ exist.

(He didn't bother to hide his disappointment.)

Even if the children sometimes screamed in the dead of the night, he didn't see anything _dark_ that could harm them.

The children sometimes would whisper a name in a terrified sob, telling their parents that something was _there,_ lurking in the dark. The Boogeyman, they said.

The idea that there was _someone_ called the Boogeyman crawling beneath the bedframe or hiding within the closet to scare _children_ brought an incredulous snort from Jack. It seemed to be a waste of time when the Boogeyman, or shadow-man, or whatever his name is, spent hours in one children's bedroom just for a spike of nightmare.

Jack dismissed the thought as he heard laughter coming from the park. No doubt from the neighboring children of Burgess. Jack grinned before asking the wind to lift him to the direction the children are playing in, not noticing a patch of darkness following him in silence; golden eyes narrowing in contemplation.

...

Jack sighed as he watch the last child disappear through the wooden door. Relief overriden the dull ache in his chest as the children were bundled in layers upon layers of blanket. Nothing else matters when the children retreated into their homes; trying to avoid the cold he brought after a fraction of time they spent playing in the snow. He tried to tell himself that it happened everytime, children will abandon the fun they had -- with an invisible boy of winter they never noticed -- when they spent their energy playing outside and leaving him alone in the cold.

(The cold he did not feel. The cold that hid dangerous waves had one not been careful enough to recognize the signs.)

It was okay, he was used to it.

But it doesn't mean that he'd have to _like_ it.

Jack stared at the moon mid-flight, wondering if the voice he'd heard so long ago was only a part of his imagination.

It probably was.

There was no way a man could live on the moon. It just doesn't work that way.

The humans have proven it.

It was hard to convience himself to hope once the sliver of doubt was whispered into his mind, not when it had took root and develop into something that went beyond his control. Not when it echoes with the fear he held deep within himself, forever locked but not forgotten.

(With his hand feebly outstretched towards the sky, Jack tried to catch the moon within his grasp. Wondering yet again if the voice would speak to him. Talk to him, answer his question, anything. Anything to show Jack that whatever happened between them when he rose from the lake wasn't just a figment of his imagination. When he was -- _still --_ desperate for answers.)

There's no such thing as Man in the Moon.

Jack averted his gaze and continued on, ignoring the slight dimming of the moonbeam as he flitted around the sky.

...

Jack sometimes wondered how it would be if he's just a normal child. Patiently sitting in front of the fireplace as he waited for Santa's arrival. Giving Christmas presents to 'Nice' kids.

But, he wasn't a 'nice' kid, was he? Looking at his track record, he'd doubt Santa would give presents to him. Given how 'naughty' he had been -- creating avalanches, frosting the roads, dumping snow on people's head when they perched below a tree -- Jack was sure Santa wouldn't even glance at him.

But, if he's naughty, where the hell is Krampus, then? Wasn't he supposed to kidnap him so he wouldn't be naughty again?

If Krampus hadn't even shown neither hair or hide to him despite his 'naughty'ness, Jack was sure he wasn't real, either. Just like the Boogeyman.

And Santa _couldn't_ have been a real person. Who'd spent an entire year making toys and delivering them to every child in just one night? It wasn't _possible._ But there's the voice at the back of his head that whispered; _you're being hypocritical, you're just one boy spreading winter with the whole world. If you can do it, so can anyone else._ Which, if he thought about it really hard, makes sense. However, he did not do his job alone. He had the aid of _the_ wind itself to traverse the world. Besides, climate and weather occurs _naturally._ He doesn't always have to be there to herd the clouds into a specific location.

(It was why he's always happy to indulge the wind after the sun had settled. She seems to know when to take him away, to keep him busy enough he'd soon forget his own troubling thoughts.)

How would he believe them, if he's never seen them?

...

 **AN:** And so have I shed my lurker status to post my very first fic in this fandom.

I got this idea by rewatching the scene where Jamie said "I believe in you, but I don't fear _you._ " to Pitch. it sparked some idea to me that soon develop into an obsession. I kept toying with the idea, it was mentioned that Jack lived in isolation, and to spend years being ignored like that could mess with someone.

If Jamie couldn't see Pitch just because he didn't _fear_ him, then what would happen to an immortal child with amnesia? Who'd have only heard his name _once._

Some of you probably could see where this is going but I don't wanna spoil yet, since I haven't done Bunny, Tooth, and Sandy.

Oh, and please, if you see any grammar error, weirdly worded phrasesz please tell me so I can fix it. English isn't my first language so I would really appreciate it if you point out any mistake. See you guys later. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Strolling between the calm winter forest, Jack absentmindedly retells his only friend of the adventure they had that day; from the lady who found her lost dog down south thanks to the leaves he blew towards where he knew the dog would be (how she had sobbed as she took control of its leash to lead them back-- his chest constricted at the display, no one would look at him quite like how she did to her _dog_. He bit back the bitter resentment as she murmurs soothing words the dog wouldn't understand, and flew away when he realized -- with shame -- that jealousy wasn't something he's allowed to feel) to the quiet company of an elderly man who was waiting for his death.

It was jarring, seeing him sitting on a bench in a lonely park with only a scarf and a top-hat, a shabby winter-coat was the only form of protection against the chill wind that came with his presence; he knew it wouldn't protect him from the harsh cold Jack eventually brought. However, the man didn't so much as move as the day grew shorter, Jack more restless when the man shivers then eventually--

Jack lingered in the presence of the still man, head bowed (whether it is in respect or guilt, he did not know), eyes clouded with unshed tears as he contemplates on the life of a man he had not known, what had brought him to the... _choice_ to surround himself with the _cold._ Jack questioned himself if he was the catalyst who brought the man demise with his presence.

Jack left the still man undisturbed, leaving traces of fern-like pattern on the metal bench the man sat on.

Behind him, a twig snapped. Making the figure who stepped on it to muffle a curse.

They didn't need to, Jack couldn't hear them anyway.

* * *

The wind tried to reassure him that it wasn't Jack's fault the man had died, not when he had been sitting outside for so long his hand had turned blue by the time Jack realized he was no longer breathing.

"Is winter really necessary?" He asked hollowly, to which she answered with a harsh tug on his clothes, blowing the fabric of his ragged cape with indignant shriek. "Why are you so upset? Everyone said winter only bring death and suffering."

Needles to say, the way the wind raged that day brought forth a new meaning of a phrase Jack often heard from human; _"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."_ even though she'd been angry at his behalf, he'd still think she was over-reacting.

Winter does bring death and suffering, no matter how hard Jack tried to lessen its effect.

"Calm down, Wind. It's the truth, I know it hurts me, too-- but what can we do about it? I touch anything," Jack motioned his surrounding area exasperatedly. " _poof,_ it freezes." The wind blew the closest tree branch, making it smack Jack right in the face as he walked through. " _Ouch,_ damn. Why are you so insistent about this?"

They bickered back and forth, with Jack arguing the darker aspect of winter and the Wind trying to point out the good deed Jack does with his power.

"Maybe you're right, maybe I was right," Jack said loudly. "you made me try so hard to prove myself-- to no one. No one saw me, Wind. I can't do anything to prove myself if there's no one to see!" The Wind stilled for a moment, before she caressed him lovingly, the only way she could do to soothe him. "What's the point of doing this anymore? I don't know why I _existed_ , shit, do I even exist in the realm of metaphysical sense?" Jack realised with a start. "Is that why I can fly? Humans can't fly, can they? but they're already making planes to fly..."

As Jack busied himself contemplating on his existensial crisis, he didn't realize the wind had stilled.

Nor did he realized a figure emerging from the shadows. Glaring at him with the intensity of a burning sun, face set in a snarl as they watched Jack Frost mumble to himself.

* * *

...

AN: So *cough* I updated yay. Jack Having existensial crisis is something that I imagined happening to him literally everyday. I'd go crazy if it was me.

* * *

I also figure out I'd do a character per chapter but with shorter chapter seeing as I now have such little break that i dont even eat properly. see you guys later. have a nice day.

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